


Perfect Recall

by camichats



Category: Marvel
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Memory Loss, Minor Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:00:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27514216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/camichats/pseuds/camichats
Summary: The serum gave Steve a perfect memory. Or at least, it used to. Ever since waking up in this century, he forgot more details than he remembered.
Comments: 14
Kudos: 16





	Perfect Recall

When Steve woke up seventy years too late, he felt fine. Not _fine_ fine, but healthy enough. His emotions were a mess, and every time he thought he had control over his mood, it took a hard left and he was a heap on the floor. It took him a long time to get back, and then he pretended like he was fine. So while Steve knew that he wasn't in the best place, personally, his health was still in peak condition from the serum. It was one less thing to worry about, and he appreciated that. 

Everyone at Shield thought he was fine with a capital 'f', and it was because of that that he was given a stamp of approval. He was allowed his own apartment, to buy his own food, and it was freedom because he didn't even have to worry about paying for any of it. 'It's all taken care of' they told him, and the only catch was that he had to be available via his phone-- which was in his pocket!-- at all times, and he had to visit once a week at headquarters. It was a one hour visit on Sunday's, and he was in and out before Director Fury could try to convince him to spearhead a Shield operatives team. 

So he didn't tell anyone that there were some gaps in his memory because then they'd pull him in for testing, and he wouldn't get to live on his own until they allowed him. What did it matter if he couldn't remember the name of his CO? Most people didn't remember those details after a while, and he was trying to assimilate so much knowledge that it made sense a few old details would fall out. 

And that's what he kept telling himself the more gaps he noticed. 

* * *

"You alright there?" said a handsome man with dark brown hair and an amused smirk. 

Steve blinked, the familiarity hitting him square in the chest and making it hard to breathe in a way nothing like his asthma used to do. He _felt_ familiar. Steve couldn't place him. One of those unimportant details he'd forgotten about, only it didn't feel so unimportant now. Dumbly, he nodded. 

"You sure?" he asked, stepping closer and leaning against the bar in an open, flirtatious manner. "Cause I was going to offer to buy you a drink, but if you're already falling over yourself maybe I should pick a better day to hit on you." 

Steve blushed, his face bleeding red across his cheeks in an overly visible way. He had pale skin; he knew that. He used to have some sort of saying about it, maybe. "'m not drunk," he mumbled, embarrassed. "I was just surprised." 

The familiar man's smile widened. "In that case, what's your poison?" 

Steve didn't know him, he remembered that much, but the familiarity had him automatically trusting the man, even though he couldn't remember where it was originating from. "Scotch." 

They ended up having sex in the man's criminally expensive car, and when Steve got come on the seat and they had nothing to wipe it off with, he laughed and assured Steve that he had people for that. 

He forgot the man's name before he got back to his apartment, and he frowned, wondering if it was getting worse. 

* * *

There was a notebook next to his bed, empty expect for a single entry that was dated and the details listed. 

**April 1st, 2009**

**Went to a bar after 10pm after going for a run in central park (name unknown, somewhere in Manhattan, not a dive)**

**Hooked up with man in his car**

**-man was gorgeous and rich (name forgotten)**

**-I think I gave him my phone number, unsure. If someone calls/texts, assume it's him?**

**-enjoyed myself, want to see him again**

Steve woke up, read the passage and nodded. This was the same as what he remembered. He hadn't forgotten anything in the middle of the night, so maybe he'd been overreacting. He only wished he'd written down names before he got all the way back to his apartment. They sold little notebooks now, didn't they? It would be small enough to carry in his pocket, and lots of people carried pens; it wouldn't be strange for him to do the same. But then, had the man even told him his name? He'd learned a little about hook ups in this century. It wasn't necessarily unsafe to share names anymore-- or at least not to the degree that Steve was used to-- but some people chose not to do it all the same. 

He wanted to believe that that's all it was, but when he thought back to the time when they were together in the man's car, he couldn't remember the details. He knew that they'd both gotten off, but he couldn't remember the exact way his fingers felt in his hair or the way he tasted. Those were details he _knew_ he should remember. 

He picked up the pen and added: **facial hair-goatee, brown hair, brown eyes, shorter than me but not** **short**. He stared at the notebook for a moment, wondering if he should add more details or if that was enough. The man probably wouldn't want to see him again, so there was nothing to worry about. 

* * *

His cellphone rang, and Steve answered it without thinking to check the number-- something Shield had warned him about many times. "Rogers." 

"Ooo do you always answer your phone like that, handsome? So commanding, I like it." 

Steve blinked. That was a lot more flirtation than he was _ever_ used to. The only times people were this forward with him, they were trying to stick their tongue down his throat a second later. It had happened at least twice, he knew, but the details were foggy. "I think that's just my voice." 

"Even better," the man said warmly. 

A stranger calling him on the phone... he had a note about that, he thought. He started searching for it while the man began to talk. 

"So the other night was fun, I was thinking we could do it again? Or maybe just get some food, I've been craving sushi for like a week, but Pepper's had my schedule so tight I didn't have a chance to sneak out again. Do you like sushi? I didn't think about it, but I guess there are people who don't like it, which is a shame because it's the best thing to come out of Japan since Mario." 

Steve was pretty sure those words made sense, but not to him. "I've never tried sushi, actually." 

"Allergic to anything? Maybe I should have led with that. I also probably should have asked if you wanted to go with me before I made reservations tonight, but what the hell, I cancel reservations all the time. Do you happen to be free at six?" 

He tripped over a weight that he did _not_ remember buying, biting out a curse, then following it with a hurried, "One second." He set the phone on the table, picked the weight up and moved it against the wall, then grabbed his notebook. He may not remember parts of his life, but he always seemed to know where the page he was looking for was located. Muscle memory, or something. He went back for the phone, book in hand and open to the page he needed. "Still there?" 

"Yeah, are you okay? Didn't break a finger or anything right? It might be a little awkward trying to eat with chopsticks. Oh and also you would have to go to the hospital and nobody likes that." He paused. "Unless they have a medical kink, in which case they have bigger problems than breaking a finger." 

"Medical kink? That exists?" 

"Sweetheart, anything on this planet is a kink for some fucked up soul. Quite frankly I think they should resort to drinking like the rest of us. Anyways, dinner? If you're busy, we can reschedule. Now that crunch week is over, my evenings are free."

"Dinner sounds great," Steve said honestly. He knew that he wanted to see this guy again, and despite saying that he was free to reschedule, Steve felt that he wouldn't get another chance after this. "Where is it?" 

"I can pick you up." 

Steve frowned; he definitely had not brought this man home with him, and he knew better than to give out his address so freely. "You don't know where I live." 

"Eh not officially, and if law enforcement ever asks, I made an educated guess that got lucky," he joked. 

Steve didn't really know how he felt about that. "Fine, but don't expect for me to invite you up for a cup of coffee. I wouldn't want your sense of entitlement to clear me out of all my coffee beans." 

"Don't worry gorgeous, I only use my coffee bean eating power for good. See you at six." 

This sounded like a disaster waiting to happen, but Steve wasn't willing to let go of the night he half-remembered. Maybe it was an issue for repetition. If he wanted to remember something long term, he needed to repeat it a few times. He wrote the date and details down, only remembering now that he hadn't gotten his name. Whatever. He'd get it eventually. 

* * *

Two dates-- and lots of sex-- later, he could remember the man's name without looking it up first: Tony. He didn't get a last name, but he also didn't care. He had to repeat it to himself every single time he thought about it, otherwise he forgot again. 

He didn't like to think about it, but his memory issues were becoming... well, an issue. He talked to his handler about it. He could recognize him on sight, but honestly, he had to look up his name before going to meet with him. "Coulson," he said when he got close. 

"What is it, Captain?" Coulson asked. That was another thing. Coulson always called him Captain, not Steve. He'd written it down in his notebook. 

"I wanted to talk to you about something. Might be a medical issue." 

Coulson looked at him expectantly. 

"My memory... I don't think it's as good as it should be." 

Coulson nodded, like that was expected. "It was theorized that it was a short term side-effect of the serum. Has it been like this since you got out of the ice?" 

"Yeah." 

"Then you're fine," he said, a tone of finality to it. He thought it was nothing. He left before Steve could tell him that it was worse than that. 

Steve didn't know if he could follow him to press the matter. He couldn't remember how busy Coulson was. Hell, he couldn't remember if Coulson was the person he needed to talk to about it, or if it was someone else. He pulled out his notebook as he left, jotting down notes. 

_Talked to Coulson about my memory. He thinks it's nothing to worry about. Not sure he understood how bad it is. Maybe talk to a doctor about it?_

He knew that the only doctors he was allowed to go to were the ones at Shield, but he didn't know where any of them were. He tried to ask someone in the hallway for directions, but all they said was, "Upstairs, don't you remember? You spent a month up there," before walking away. 

* * *

"Natasha, we're friends, right?" Steve asked. 

"We are." 

"So if I wanted to-" 

"Don't," she cut in. "We're coworkers and friends, and that's how I'd like to keep it. Nothing else, Rogers." 

Steve blinked at her. He'd been going to ask if he could talk to her about something personal and she wouldn't judge him for it. She thought he meant something else. "Okay," he said instead. 

She gave a firm nod, then gave him a crooked smile. "Nothing personal." 

"I know," he said. He had no idea what was going on. She was turning him down for a date he'd had no intention to ask for. Had he hinted at it in the past? Had he been flirting with her even though he was seeing Tony? It's not like he could _ask_. 

* * *

"What's your name?" Steve asked, thinking that it was the first time he'd met this man. 

"Ouch," the man said, giving an exaggerated wince. "Go straight for the kill, don't you Cap? I know I don't follow orders as much as you'd like, but a guy that uses a bow and arrow isn't exactly forgettable. Look, you don't want me on your team, bring it up with Coulson." 

Steve didn't bother to defend himself. He never tried to explain it to people anymore; they never believed him. At least, not according to the notes he'd left himself. 

No one ever believed him. 


End file.
